


The Serpent's Tongue

by marciana



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-13 02:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9101818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marciana/pseuds/marciana
Summary: Draco Malfoy hates Harry Potter. It's the simplest thing in the world. So why can't he stay away from him?[Story can also be found on FanFiction.Net, where this was originally published under my other user name, morsmordre6]





	1. Chapter 1

His mother was a paranoid woman and had always strongly disliked the idea of international travel, since their family's influence and power didn't extend beyond the United Kingdom's boundaries. Every year prior, his pleas to be allowed to attend the Cup had fallen on deaf ears. Britain hadn't hosted the Quidditch World Cup in 30 years, but that changed the summer before his fourth year at Hogwarts. His father had accepted the Minister's invitation to sit in the Top Box to watch Bulgaria vs. Ireland, and he had counted down the days, looking forward to watching a professional match comfortably, without a loud and rambunctious crowd pressing in all around him.

Draco Malfoy's intestines churned when he and his parents reached the top of the staircase set exactly halfway between the golden goal posts and saw that they'd come upon Potter, fucking _Potter_ of all people, and he was surrounded by an outrageous number of redheads- ugh, the Weasleys, of course- and, because that wasn't bad enough, Granger. He almost believed that they'd come to the wrong box.

"Good lord, Arthur," he heard his father murmur to keep the Minister from overhearing. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

Draco felt his lips slide up into a smirk. It was very entertaining to watch his father's tongue slice into someone that, for once, wasn't him. As much as he resented it sometimes, Draco wanted nothing more than to be like his father: Untouchable. And, sure enough, Arthur Weasley had been left dumbstruck, unable to come up with a retort. Draco sniffed. These "turn-the-other-cheek" types weren't righteous; they were just too slow.

Settling himself between his parents, Draco looked around the enormous stadium. Over a hundred thousand people were taking their seats around the field, and he could feel the tangible excitement: the very air seemed imbued with golden magic. He shifted his eyes over to Potter's group again. Their presence irritated him to no end. Having them so close cheapened everything else about this experience.

He looked over at his mother, whose face was still pinched with concern. She disliked crowds, and this was overwhelming her. He wished she would just relax and enjoy herself, but knew she was probably physically incapable of doing anything but worry that something would go wrong. It was an irrational fear, but it defined the woman.

Finally, Ludo Bagman barged into the box, almost bouncing on his heels with anticipation. He pointed his wand at his own throat and said, " _Sonorus!_ "

His magically magnified voice boomed over the thousands and thousands of seats: "Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

Draco felt a little thrill course up his spine at the crowd's animated response, but he saw his mother stiffen out of the corner of his eye. There was no losing your sense of decorum when you were a Malfoy.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

"Veela!" he heard Mr. Weasley say.

"Father, what are veela-?" Draco began, but was interrupted when his father wordlessly raised a hand: he did not want to be disturbed with questions.

A hundred beautiful women came out into the field and began to dance, their skin glowing with an ethereal light, their white-gold hair swirling behind them gracefully, as if underwater. Draco felt his mother place a hand on his arm, as if to stop him from getting up. He gave her a questioning look, but she was looking past him at her husband.

Lucius Malfoy was struggling. His forehead and neck were perspiring; he produced a handkerchief from his robes and dabbed at his face, his grey eyes fixed on the dancing women. Draco frowned. "Father, are you alri-"

But the music had stopped, and angry shouts were rising from the seats. He looked over to the front of the box and saw Potter had left his seat and was resting a leg on the wall of the box. Next to him, Weasley had stood and bent his knees as if he meant to jump. In fact, everyone in the box had been behaving very strangely.

 _No,_ Draco corrected himself. _Not everyone_. He watched as Granger reached out and dragged Potter back to his seat. " _Honestly!_ " he heard her say.

Another jolt coursed through Draco's body. _The men._ He swallowed hard. _The veela only affected the men._

His throat felt dry.

 _So why didn't they affect_ me?

* * *

He'd been watching his Krum figurine walk back and forth sullenly across his pillow, as if it knew Bulgaria had lost the match, for what felt like hours, when the celebratory sounds coming from outside, which had faded gradually, seemed to return in full force. But they had changed. Screams, off in the distance. People running.

As he propped himself up on one shoulder, he heard his father laughing drunkenly – he and Macnair had polished off a bottle of firewhiskey each – and then stumble out of their tent. His mother parted the curtain sectioning off his sleeping area and hissed, "Draco, I'm going to fetch your father before he makes a fool of himself. Don't leave this tent, do you hear me? I will be _right back_."

Draco nodded, and she disappeared.

He counted to ten, then got up, pocketed his wand, and followed.

* * *

People were scattered and running into the woods, away from the clearing and its jumbled rows of campsites, where some of the tents had caught fire. They were running away from a group of hooded, masked wizards that were moving as one, their wants pointed at the sky.

Draco looked up and smirked. The Muggle campsite manager was floating in midair, following the wands. He was accompanied by what was surely his family—his wife, scrambling to cover herself as her nightdress shifted, and two small children. As far as he could see, they were unhurt. Just terrified.

Not wanting to get jostled by the people fleeing the campsites, he moved towards the woods and stayed close to the tree line, watching the hooded figures as they continued to string the Muggle family along like crude puppets. He leaned against a trunk and watched the fires stain the night red.

"…oh this is stupid – _lumos_!"

He turned his head and almost groaned. _Of all the rotten luck._

Weasley, illuminated in Granger's wandlight, was getting to his feet, brushing off dirt and grumbling, "Tripped over a tree root."

"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," Draco said, unable to let the opportunity pass by.

The insufferable trio turned quickly in his direction.

"Fuck off, you slimy prat!" Weasley said darkly.

Draco smiled. "Language, Weasley." He tipped his head towards Granger. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like _her_ spotted, would you?"

An explosion from the campsite reverberated through the woods. And still the three stayed, watching him. _If they had any sense, they'd be running away like everyone else. Ah, guess that explains a lot._

"What's that supposed to mean?" Granger was saying.

"Granger, they're after _Muggles_. D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around… they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."

"Hermione's a witch," Potter was now stepping in front of her.

 _Just go, you prat_. Draco sighed and gave him a smile. "If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."

"You watch your mouth!"

"Never mind, Ron," Granger was holding him back. Draco felt like laughing. _So self-righteous._

Another bang. Louder this time. _Get going_.

"I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to – trying to rescue the Muggles?"

"Where're _your_ parents? Out there wearing masks, are they?" Potter was breathing hard.

Draco loved how easy it was to get a rise out of him. He slowly dipped his hand in his pocket and closed his fingers around his wand. If only it wasn't three against one, he would have loved hexing Potter's mouth shut.

"Well… if they were," Draco gave his voice a silky veneer he'd heard his father use when he wanted to be especially cruel, "I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"

Granger, falling back into her role as mother hen, started dragging the two furious boys away. Draco felt a trace of disappointment. _Fun's over_.

"Keep that big bushy head down, Granger!"

He gripped his wand, a brief exhilaration filling his lungs as he almost expected Potter to come rushing back and not even bothering with a hex, just a fist connecting to jaw, some blood being spat. Maybe it was the dark excitement of the night. He had a reckless, irrational desire to hurt something. Someone. Potter. He wanted to bruise him, he wanted his skin to swell at Potter's violence.

But the woods remained dark and silent. He was alone.

He turned back to the campsite's chaos.

* * *

Author's Notes: Thanks for reading this prologue! I hope you have enjoyed it. The dialogue in the prologue is (for the most part) taken exactly as it appears in the Quidditch World Cup scenes from HP & the Goblet of Fire, but I wanted to tackle these scenes from Draco's point of view before getting into the meat of the story. I obviously want to give credit where credit is due. No copyright infringement intended!


	2. Chapter 2

_"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose."_

Safely back at Malfoy Manor, Draco lay on his back in bed, looking up at the deep mahogany-colored canopy above his four poster bed. He frowned. The color reminded him of Gryffindor. He dug the heels of his palms against his eyelids, trying to block out his very first encounter with Harry Potter.

 _If only I'd known who he was then_ , he thought. _I should've knocked him right off that stool._

He opened his eyes and crossed his arms. He knew he was trying to rewrite his version of the past, and it wasn't working. He'd tried to befriend him at that robe shop without knowing who he was. That was… quite unlike him.

Just a short time afterwards, they were both on the Hogwarts Express for the very first time. When Pansy Parkinson had burst into the compartment to hiss that _Harry Potter_ was on the train, he'd jumped to his feet to see for himself. Crabbe and Goyle followed without him even needing to look back.

He, Draco Malfoy, had actually sought _him_ out. Had lowered himself to the measly task of extending an offer of friendship, rather than waiting for Potter to come to _him_ , like most who wanted security or connections usually did. He'd been surprised to see it was the same boy from the robe shop.

_"You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."_

But Potter had refused the hand he'd reached out.

_"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."_

Draco remembered feeling his face grow hot. It had been an unfamiliar sensation. Malfoys never lost their cool demeanor. Except it was happening again, right now, as he remembered that first train ride. He'd spat out the most hurtful thing he could conjure – some jab at his dead parents, as he would rely on for years to come – to make him pay for embarrassing him.

He and Weasley had become friends by sheer accident. A chance seating arrangement on the train. How solid could that foundation be? And as far as he could tell, they had both stayed far away from the Granger girl for the first two months and then something happened on Halloween that had forged The Golden Trio.

He'd sworn to make him pay for his insolence, and Potter insisted on burying himself deeper in debt. When Draco found out that Potter had been allowed to join his House Quidditch team, it had taken every ounce of willpower to keep from writing to his father. First years weren't allowed to be on House teams! They weren't even allowed their own broomsticks! He had angrily watched the Quidditch games, eyes trained on Potter. _It's not fair_ , he'd think, glaring at the red blur of Potter zipping past the Slytherin box in pursuit of a glint of gold. _I could do that,_ he'd think, watching Potter gripping his broomstick with his knees as he raised himself to trap the glittering ball that would win and end the game. Just one year later he'd joined the Slytherin team as Seeker, and would never forget the disastrous first game against his nemesis. He'd known that having to face him on the field had shaken Potter, and he'd made sure that Potter wouldn't forget who he was playing against. That meant he'd been unable to keep his eyes off Potter, and had completely forgotten to look for the Golden Snitch.

Draco gave his eyes one more rub to expel the thoughts of his enemy and sat up. Soon he'd be off to Diagon Alley with his mother to get his school textbooks. He wondered if he should Floo someone – Crabbe? Goyle? – to see if they wanted to meet up, then decided against it. They'd be like two shadows, silently trailing after him all throughout the castle for the entire school year. And Pansy was no better – she was _worse_ , always hanging on his arm or trying to press herself against him when they sat on the couches in the Slytherin common room.

 _Bet Potter's there with his friends_ , his train of thought began again. He couldn't wait to be back at school, where he could finally use magic again. He'd be able to Obliviate every thought of Potter before it even took shape. And his father had told him that this year, Hogwarts was hosting the Triwizard Cup. He would have that to distract him. _One year without any drama with Potter_ , he mused. Was it too much to ask?

* * *

Of course it was.

Impossibly, a fourth name, Potter's, had fluttered out of the Cup on a scorched piece of parchment.

 _He is going to get himself killed_ , Draco thought immediately. _I wonder how he got his name in the Cup_.

For the briefest of moments, he wished they weren't mortal enemies. He could've just _asked_ how he'd done it. But no, Weasley would probably be the one squirreled up in Gryffindor tower, enraptured as he listened to Potter's tale. That led to Draco wondering what it was like up in the tower. It was probably warmer than it was down in the dungeons, that was for sure.

Draco pointed his wand at his forehead. He singled out the image of Potter lying in red-and-gold sheets, and brought it front-and-center in his mind. " _Obliviate!_ "

Draco managed to almost make it to the end of the first term without confronting Potter. Granted, one instance had been stopped short when the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had turned him into a ferret – a new personal low – but other than wearing "Support Cedric Diggory" buttons to annoy Potter, he figured the Triwizard Tournament was torturing him enough. He teased Potter about the likelihood that he would not emerge from each task alive, but found his heart just wasn't in it this year.

Then came the Yule Ball.

"Aren't you going to ask me, Draco?" Pansy simpered, tucking her legs under her, trying to look demure and alluring. "To go to the Yule Ball?"

"Why even bother, when it's a given?" Draco smiled.

Just when Pansy's cheeks flushed with pleasure, he added: "It's not like anyone else would ask you."

Pansy's brows knitted as she processed the insult. She could snap back – everyone knew she had a true Slytherin's barbed tongue, quick and hurtful – but they both knew Draco had a point.

"You're a wicked boy, Draco," she said, keeping her tone playful.

"That's why you like me."

He smothered his body's desire to flinch when she leaned over him and pressed her lips to his. He focused on mirroring his mouth with Pansy's while keeping the rest of his body stone-still, but she quickly became aggravated and she grabbed his hand, pulling it towards her chest. Draco snapped his hand back as if it had come too close to a fire.

"Not here," he growled, looking around the deserted common room.

"Then let me come back with you to your dorm," she mumbled, her mouth close to his pale ear.

He shook his head. "Not tonight."

* * *

At the Yule Ball, Draco studied his date closely. Pansy cleaned up fine, he supposed. She was a pureblood, and that would make his parents… well, not happy, exactly. He wondered if they even knew what happiness felt like. They would be _satisfied_. Considering the slim pickings, _satisfied_ would have to do.

He wondered why he didn't feel anything whenever she kissed him or pressed her body against his as they danced. Her body was nice enough. Curvy in the right spots. She made it clear she'd bend over backwards for him, literally, even, if he asked her to.

Draco looked down at her. She had just turned her head to glare at Roger Davies and Fleur Delacour for side-stepping too close to the spot where she and Draco were slowly swaying. Roger was gaping dumbly at Fleur, as if asking himself if he was awake. Fleur seemed just as unaware, her eyes taking in the frosted lights decorating the Great Hall, her white-gold hair following her motions like a liquid trail.

A quick image of the dancing veela at the Quidditch World Cup made Draco's insides tighten, and Pansy, sensing it, looked up at him. _They didn't affect me_ , he remembered. He wanted to think maybe his mind was not as easy to influence as others, but he remembered how his father had struggled to remain composed during the veelas' dancing. His father had one of the most heavily guarded minds he'd ever known. Tricks he'd learned under the Dark Lord, he'd told Draco.

As they moved, Draco saw Potter sitting at a table butted up against the perimeter of the dance floor. One of the Parvati twins – no idea which – was sitting next to him, looking very cross with her arms folded, her foot bouncing impatiently. He smirked. Potter was a shit date, apparently.

 _At least he was affected by the veelas_ , he mocked himself, bitterly.

And then the song was over, and Pansy was making a big show of yawning and stretching. Potter's date had abandoned him, and he was walking out of the Hall with Weasley. Somehow this failed to amuse him as much as it should.

"I'm all tuckered out," she said loudly, fanning her face. She leaned closer to Draco and said, "Meet me in your dorm in ten minutes."

Draco waited a few seconds before exiting the Hall after her.

Just outside the entrance he saw something that made him stop cold.

Weasley was nowhere to be seen. Potter and Diggory were standing very close together, conspiratorially. _They're supposed to be enemies_ , Draco frowned, _and yet here they are, thick as thieves._

Suddenly, Diggory broke away from Potter and started climbing the staircase.

"Looks like you don't know how to keep a woman happy, Potter," Draco said, his lips half-cocked into a smile.

"Shut it, Malfoy," Potter said, barely glancing at him.

"Listen, if you need _tips_ or anything, I know you've never been with a witch before…"

Potter snorted. "If I ever needed advice, I'd ask Snape before asking _you_. I'm tired, all right? So just sod off."

"Tired? What did you do besides ignore your date all night?" Draco chuckled. "You know, it's bad form to lead a girl on when you're not even into witches."

This got Potter to finally meet his gaze.

Draco drove the knife in deeper. "What, you thought it was a secret?"

Before he could even react, Potter had pinned him against a statue with one arm, his wand poking painfully into Draco's neck, his scent – sweat and starched cotton and some crushed herb – a clear indicator of how small the distance was between them.

"I know you get some sick joy out of pushing my buttons," Potter hissed. "But that was pathetic, even for you."

"Seems like we've touched a nerve, though, haven't we?" he muttered, and the wand tip seemed to grow hot. He hissed, and Potter released him. His hand flew up to his neck, and he met Potter's gaze coldly.

"I have enough to worry about," Potter said, pocketing his wand. "I don't need you adding to that."

"Sounds like you need to get laid, Potter," Draco laughed. "I think there are a few wizards in Hufflepuff that have standards low enough to take pity on you—"

This time he had even less time to prepare. Potter slammed him against the statue, and he felt one of the gargoyle's claws digging painfully into his lower back. Potter was holding him by the collar, and he was almost lifting Draco off the floor, his green eyes ablaze with anger, his breath jagged.

"I'm flattered, Potter," Draco said, keeping his voice even. "But you're barking up the wrong tree."

"You're disgusting." Again, he seemed to deflate and he let go of Draco's collar. "I know you're just trying to psych me out, Malfoy. You want me to fuck up a task so badly that I will never live down the shame. I know you wish you were the one getting all this attention, and you know what? I wish you were, too. I didn't ask for any of this shit."

Draco had a dozen retorts – a few choice ones about his parents – but the defeat in Potter's slumped shoulders stopped him. He'd won this one, he thought, watching Potter climb the stairs. _Best not push it._


	3. Chapter 3

In the weeks leading up to the second Task, he'd noticed Potter and his friends spending an inordinate amount of time in the library. He knew it wasn't homework, because even Granger seemed to be panicking, turning pages a little too frantically.

One night, Draco was scanning the dusty shelves for a tome that would help him finish his Potions essay, and Potter and Granger stepped into the same aisle. Granger handed Potter a scrap of parchment and said, "These books should be somewhere around here-" she stopped short when she saw Draco watching them coldly.

"I'll be fine," he heard Potter mutter, and Granger stalked off, looking at them over her shoulder.

Draco was ready. He smirked and began.

"What's the matter, Potter? Putting in some long hours for extra credit? All this Tournament taking up too much of your study time?"

Potter's eyes closed as he took a steeling breath. "None of your business, Malfoy."

Draco watched him start to scan the shelves, edging closer and closer to him.

While his attention was elsewhere, Draco reached out and snatched the parchment out of his hand.

"Hey-!" Potter lunged, but Draco stretched out one long arm and held him away while he quickly read Granger's scrawled titles.

" _Transforming Yourself with Transfiguration?_ " he laughed, which earned a far-off "Shh!" from Madam Pince. He lowered his voice: " _Magically Modify Yourself?_ What are you up to, Potter? Are you trying to find a spell that'll make you stop fancying blokes?"

He relaxed the arm that held him at bay and Potter stepped closer to take back the parchment. Draco took a slow breath. Again, that crisp starch and crushed mint scent.

"Like I said," Potter said through clenched teeth, " _none of your business._ "

"I'm alone in the stacks with someone who seems scared that he'll jump every bloke he sees, so I think it _is_ my business." Draco folded his arms and grinned. "No one around right now… and who _knows_ what you'll do to me?"

Potter's wand was at his neck again, but this time he didn't flinch. He deliberately looked down at Potter's fingers gripping the holly shaft and _very_ slowly swept his gray eyes up to meet furious green. Potter was breathing hard.

"There aren't enough hexes in the world to curse you as much as you deserve," he said in a hoarse whisper.

Draco pursed his lips and blew him a kiss. Potter's eyes widened for a split second before he grabbed a fistful of his robes and slammed him against the bookcase. Several books toppled off the shelf and landed around them with heavy thuds.

Both boys hesitated for a second before dashing away in opposite directions, fleeing from the clutches of Madam Pince.

* * *

When Potter's head finally broke the surface of the lake, well after the allotted time for the Second Task had expired, Draco saw that he had Weasley in tow. _That's who he'd "surely miss?"_

Draco huffed quietly. Why did that annoy him? He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his muscles tense. He vaguely wondered why he was still looking at the water sliding down Potter's sculpted legs. It was as if his brain was trying to remember something, but there was a roiling gray cloud that wouldn't let it reveal itself. He looked at the Slytherin crowd around him, saw the looks of disappointment that Potter hadn't, in fact, drowned in the lake. He did his best to blend in.

One morning over breakfast, he heard the commotion of several owls trying to converge at the same point. He glanced over towards the Gryffindor table, where Granger was overwhelmed with several owls, each one jostling to deliver its message first. He found the sight amusing, and it only got better when she cried out in pain as one of the envelopes spilled something that made her hands swell and deform with sores. She ran out of the Great Hall, and his table erupted with laughter. He joined in.

When they were headed to Care of Magical Creatures later, he noticed that Granger had not yet joined her classmates.

"Potter, have you split up with your girlfriend? Why was she so upset at breakfast?" Pansy called out.

He tried not to glare back at her. He knew Granger didn't even factor into Potter's attention, not _that way_. He'd watched the four champions and their retrieved hostages at the end of the Second Task. Potter had been doing a poor job of hiding the longing in his eyes as he watched Diggory and the Ravenclaw girl.

He knew everyone thought he only wore the SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY badges to annoy Potter, (and yes, that was a small part of it), but he realized at the end of the Task that his support was very, very sincere.

* * *

"Hey, Potter! _Potter!_ How's your head? You feeling all right? Sure you're not going to go berserk on us?"

On the day of the third and final Task, Draco waved his copy of the Daily Prophet and drank in Potter's confused face. He clearly had no idea what Rita Skeeter had in store for him this time. He watched as Potter grabbed the paper Weasley was trying to hide from view, and waited for him to react. An outburst, a dark look, anything. And when his green eyes flashed back to him, he, Crabbe and Goyle started to mimic the seizure he'd suffered in the Astronomy tower.

But Potter had seemed to immediately forget about him. Draco gripped the paper in frustration. _I'll catch him when he leaves the Hall_ , he thought, and set to finishing his breakfast at a leisurely pace.

He never got his chance, however.

When Potter finished his breakfast, he was summoned to the chamber behind the staff table, where the Weasley family was waiting to surprise him. They didn't leave his side all day, and then, all too soon, Potter was being called down to the final Task.

* * *

And then he'd emerged from the maze, clutching the Cup and Diggory's corpse. It wasn't long before rumors started spreading.

_You-Know-Who had returned_.

He knew the days of their school rivalry were over. The line had been drawn for them, and he and Potter would stand on opposite sides forever.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Again, dialogue has been borrowed here and there as it appears in HP  & the Goblet of Fire for authenticity. No copyright infringement intended. Hope you are enjoying reading so far!


	4. Chapter 4

Draco had never looked forward to the train ride to Hogwarts as much as he did at that moment. At Kings Cross, his father had nudged him when they saw a large, shaggy dog jump up and put its front paws on Potter's chest. _That's Black_ , he'd murmured, a malicious smile curling his lips. Wormtail had blustered every scrap of information he could to keep the Dark Lord for ripping him limb from limb. _The things I can hold over Potter_... He was almost tempted to rub his hands together. He had an arsenal of taunts at the ready. He was ready.

His plans deflated, however, when he and Pansy entered the prefects' carriage and he saw that Potter was absent from the ranks. _But he_ must've _been made prefect..._ His eyes narrowed when he saw Granger and fucking _Weasley_ sitting in the carriage, both glaring right back at him. _This makes no sense_ , he fumed, taking a seat next to Pansy and tuning out the Head Boy and Girl as they started delivering their spiel.

* * *

He watched the countryside zip by in a green blur while he fingered the shiny new prefect badge absently, catching the sunlight and annoying Pansy.

"Stop that," she said, squinting as the ray of light shone into her eyes. Draco stopped touching the badge and without looking away from the window.

That summer had slipped by so quickly. There had been a flurry of activity at Malfoy Manor... Mostly Death Eater meetings, during which his mother had strictly forbidden him from even approaching the dining room. One evening, he'd heard the front door open and, unable to contain his curiosity, he'd stepped out of his room to stand at the top of the staircase and he'd felt his blood turn cold when he saw Lord Voldemort sweep into the foyer, a small huddle of groveling followers shadowing him. He didn't even look human—his nose was barely more than two slits in the center of his pale face, his eyes sharp like a snake's. As if sensing Draco's presence, those terrible eyes had flickered to the top of the stairs. Draco's heart skipped a beat when he saw the Dark Lord give him a cold, cruel smile.

" _Draco!_ " his mother had hissed from the circle of dark-robed followers. "Go back to your room and stay there!"

Heart beating painfully fast, he had watched the Dark Lord disappear into the dining room, his trail of simpering devotees following in his wake.

He didn't return to his room. He wished he could cast a Silencing Charm around himself without violating the underage sorcery decree, so he did his best to breathe as quietly as possible as he stood just outside the dining room door, trying to decipher their conversations, which seemed to be mostly hissed insults and dark murmurs. Then—he couldn't believe his luck—he'd actually heard someone burst out laughing: _That big oaf? Trying to befriend the giants!_ There had been muffled laughter. Then: _Dumbledore really_ is _desperate!_ Draco had tiptoed away from the door and, trying not to stumble from the thrill of not having been caught, raced up the stairs.

"Right," Draco said suddenly, leaping to his feet. "Time to patrol."

Pansy rolled her eyes, but Crabbe and Goyle obediently followed, as if incapable of independent thought.

He shoved some first years out of his way as he made his way through the train. Spotting Granger's bushy hair, he rolled open the compartment door.

"What?" Potter was mad.

"Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention," he smirked. _Go on, Potter. Try me._ "You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments."

"Yeah, but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone."

Potter's stupid little friends laughed.

"Tell me," Draco said, almost tenderly. "How does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Granger shot back.

_Ha._ "I seem to have touched a nerve. Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be _dogging_ your footsteps in case you step out of line."

"Get out!" Granger leapt to her feet.

Draco chuckled and gave Potter one last cold glance before sauntering off, Crabbe and Goyle obediently shadowing him. He heard the compartment door slam shut.

He was considering counting down, but before he even finished the thought, the compartment door had opened again. He turned and smiled.

Potter shut the door behind him, his eyes furiously narrowed, his hands tense from restraining themselves from wrapping themselves around Draco's neck.

Crabbe and Goyle automatically made to move in front of Draco protectively, but he raised his hands to stop them. He blinked slowly and shook his head once before giving Potter a coy smile.

"What was _that?_ " Potter hissed.

"I have no idea what you mean," Draco said, eyes wide with mock innocence.

Potter took a step forward and Draco lifted his hand. "That's close enough, Potter. I'm not sure I want you getting too near, what with you being _bent_ and all-"

"Oh, that's really mature, Malfoy," Potter said. "Taking a dig at me by making up-"

"Is _that_ what I'm doing?" Draco folded his arms. "You're really going to stand there and deny-"

"You can try to start as many rumors as you want; stop changing the s-"

"Except there's nothing I need to _start_ , seeing as you're the one always seeking _me_ out, pushing _me_ against a wall, trying to-"

"That's a lie!"

"Is it?"

Potter seemed to be dumbstruck for a split second. His hand had stopped halfway to Malfoy's neck. _Aha._

He and Potter both sensed it at the same time. They looked around—faces pressed against compartment windows, fingers pointing, lips moving inaudibly. Their eyes met again, and Draco gave him the cruelest smile he knew how to make. A smile that almost looked kind.

"I've told you before, Potter," he said silkily. "I don't fancy blokes. And if I did, well... you'd hardly be my type, now, wouldn't you? I dare say I could do much, _much_ better than the likes of you."

"I'll fucking get you for this," Potter muttered, his face reddening.

Draco calmly watched him storm back into his compartment.

He then sent Crabbe and Goyle off on a Cauldron Cake run. He walked quickly back to his compartment, where Pansy sat alone glancing through _Witch Weekly._ He flicked his wand and the blinds fell across the glass, and Pansy looked up.

"Draco, what... _Draco!_ "

He was standing in front of her, brusquely opening his robes, loosening his belt.

"Quick," he panted. "Just- suck me off- ah-"

"Are you mental?" She was looking past him at the covered windows.

"Pansy, please," he whispered, one hand resting against her face, the other one fumbling with his trouser's buttons. "I'm so _hard-_ "

She gasped, and her eyes filled with mirth. Her eager hands pushed his away and she had his cock in her mouth as if she had _Accio_ 'd it there.

He placed one hand against the wall behind her to keep his balance as the train swayed. He closed his eyes and saw Potter's enraged eyes, his quickened breathing. He groaned as Pansy's tongue flicked against the tip of his cock, and he reached down and pulled her head closer, forcing her to take him in deeper.

Her hand – _no, Potter's hand_ , his mind whispered – stroked the length of him, fast. Strong grip.

"Mmh!" Draco felt his body tense for an agonizing second before the release.

"Ugh, Draco," Pansy mumbled. A couple of drops of his come had dribbled down her chin and splattered her school robes.

Instead of apologizing, he just took his wand and mumbled, " _Scourgify_ ," before collecting himself, closing his robes around him.

Pansy stared at him, half-amused. "What got into _you?_ "

* * *

Author's Notes: A few lines of dialogue borrowed exactly as they appear in _HP & the Order of the Phoenix_. No copyright infringement intended. Hope you're enjoying reading so far!


	5. Chapter 5

Fifth year was going to be _amazing._

Draco was pretending to watch the bowtruckles as they ate wood lice, but out of the corner of his eye he watched Potter as he circled around the crowd of students huddled around the creatures. He'd sidled up to Professor Grubbly-Plank and – Draco stepped back slightly to hear what he was saying – asked, "Where's Hagrid?"

"Never you mind," Professor Grubbly-Plank said dismissively.

Draco couldn't help but grin. Why was Potter so ignorant to everything that was going on? He could not wait to lord his knowledge over him, show him what power looked like. Maybe he'd beg for information. He would enjoy making him beg.

"Maybe," Draco murmured so that only he could hear, "the stupid great oaf's got himself badly injured."

"Maybe you will if you don't shut up," Harry hissed back.

"Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too _big_ for him, if you get my drift."

He turned and sauntered off, knowing Potter was now positively seething. It was only a matter of time before he would come to him to ask questions.

* * *

And come he did.

He didn't have to wait long. He thought he might as well make it easy for Potter.

When their Care of Magical Creatures class was dismissed, he started walking back towards the castle with the rest of the Slytherins and suddenly stopped. "I left my bowtruckle drawing behind," he explained to his surly companions. "Go on without me; I'll catch up."

He glanced over at Potter, who was talking to some fourth years that were just exiting one of the greenhouses. Their eyes met, and Draco saw a cold rage flicker across Potter's face. _Gotcha._

Draco made a big show of rolling up his forgotten parchment, his back turned to Potter's approaching form.

"I think that's close enough, Potter," Draco said calmly.

"What do you know about Hagrid?"

Draco turned around and smirked. "A lot more than you do, I take. Honestly, Potter, you call yourself that big oaf's _friend_?"

"Come off it, Malfoy. What do you know?"

Draco's smile widened. "What makes you think I'd tell you?"

Potter glared. He had him there.

"When have you ever known a Slytherin to give something away for nothing in return?" Draco folded his arms.

"What do you want, then?"

"Nothing from _you_ ," Draco laughed. "See you, Potter."

And he left him there, trembling with fury.

* * *

_This is just too good._

Weasley had been made Keeper, and he was a right mess of one, too.

_We're finally going to win the Cup_.

The morning of their first match against Gryffindor, Draco had handed out crown-shaped badges he'd bewitched to read "WEASLEY IS OUR KING" in the Slytherin common room. Every single student had gleefully pinned the badges onto their robes and taken a slip of parchment that had been charmed to sing the lyrics written on them.

_Weasley cannot save a thing,_

_He cannot block a single ring,_

_That's why Slytherins all sing:_

_Weasley is our King._

Granted, he'd been too busy watching Weasley flub his saves (each one getting messier the more the crowd sang "Weasley Is Our King") to even do a decent job of Seeking, but it still made his blood boil when Potter grabbed the Snitch. He felt a sick pleasure at watching Crabbe send a Beater into his lower back even though the game was over.

"Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?" he said, once on the ground. "I've never seen a worse Keeper... but then he was _born in a bin_... Did you like my lyrics, Potter?"

Potter was ignoring him. He was watching Weasley, who had landed by the goal posts and was now heading to the changing rooms alone. Draco felt a surge of anger. _Look at me_ , his mind growled.

"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" he said loudly, to make sure Potter could hear him while the Gryffindor Chasers embraced him. "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly – we wanted to sing about his mother, see –"

The insults came so easily that Draco hardly had time to think before they were sliding off his tongue. He didn't have time to care. If that damned Weasley was one of his weak points, he had no problem exploiting it.

The Weasley twins were now casting murderous looks at him. He wished they hadn't heard what he was saying – he was insulting their family, but it was Potter that he wanted to infuriate.

"Perhaps you can remember what _your_ mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it-"

That was it.

Potter and one of the twins – whichever one wasn't being held back – launched at him. Potter's fist was sinking, sinking hard into his stomach, and he felt as if his lungs had forgotten how to breathe. He was crying out and trying to lash back at the two boys that were wildly pummeling him, and almost as soon as it began, someone shouted " _IMPEDIMENTA!_ " and everything stopped.

He wondered how he'd ended up on the ground, curled around his aching ribs, cradling his aching left arm. Madam Hooch's voice sounded very far away as she ordered his attackers to McGonagall's office.

_I'll get him for this_ , he thought darkly, his nose full with the smell of grass and dirt crushed beneath him.

* * *

It turned out he didn't need to do anything; Potter had done it all by himself. His temper had gotten him banned him from playing Quidditch ever again by Professor Umbridge. He found the woman's class dreadful, sure, but the fact that her interests benefited him greatly made him warm up to her very quickly. His father had passed down a very convenient gift: knowing whose good sides to get on.

And right now, much to Draco's amusement, she was attempting to get rid of one of the worst teachers in the school. Hagrid had returned.

He'd quickly become bored with the day's lesson, watching meat disappear into thin air – what was the point of learning to care for a creature that he couldn't see? He looked over at Potter, who was staring into the empty space where a dead cow's carcass was being dismantled and devoured. _Of course he can see the thestrals_ , Draco thought, a cool shiver running down his spine. _He saw the Dark Lord murder Cedric Diggory._

He shrugged off the uneasy feeling by joining Pansy in badmouthing Hagrid, and Umbridge doled out approving smiles.

"I'm surprised so many people _could_ see them," he heard Weasley say after class ended and they were all headed back indoors. "Three in a class-"

"Yeah, Weasley, we were just wondering. D'you reckon if you saw someone snuff it you'd be able to see the Quaffle better?"

He watched as Granger murmured to the other two, "Just ignore them."

It was cute how she thought that old advice could actually work. Especially with a temper like Potter's.

Sure enough, he was stomping back toward him through the snow.

"You want some more, do you?" Draco grinned, and Crabbe and Goyle guffawed behind him. _As if they even understood what is going on_ , Draco thought irritably.

"Lay off him," Potter growled.

"It's so touching, the way you watch out for him," Draco sighed dramatically. "Shouldn't you run off after him before he gets jealous?"

"Shut it, Malfoy."

"Make me."

" _Harry!_ " Granger was now pulling him along, and Draco felt mildly disappointed that Potter hadn't taken the bait.

* * *

Being in Umbridge's good graces continued to pay off, as he and several other Slytherins saw when they were "hand-picked" to join the Inquisitorial Squad. When she told them they were allowed to dock House points, he had trouble containing his glee.

He'd immediately set out for the entrance hall, very much looking forward to break in his new authority, and he knew exactly who to punish.

He could hear Granger as she walked up the stone steps: "Oh, I expect she really fancied herself sitting up there in the Head's office, lording it over all the other teachers, the stupid puffed-up, power-crazy old-"

"Now, do you _really_ want to finish that sentence, Granger?" He was having trouble not grinning. She stared, baffled, alongside Potter, Weasley and Macmillan. "Afraid I'm going to have to dock a few points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff."

"It's only teachers that can dock points from Houses, Malfoy," Macmillan snapped back.

"Yeah, we're prefects too, remember?"

"I know _prefects_ can't, Weasel King, but members of the Inquisitorial Squad _can_." He rubbed his hands together slowly. "So, Granger, I'll have five points from you for being rude about our new headmistress... Macmillan, five for contradicting me... Five because I don't like you, Potter... Weasley, your shirt's untucked, so I'll have another five for that... Oh, yeah, I forgot, you're a Mudblood, Granger, so ten for that..."

He left them dumbstuck, looking up at the House hourglasses, where handfuls of Hufflepuff diamonds and Gryffindor rubies were flying back up into the upper bulb.

Potter had, predictably, followed him into the next corridor. Draco waved Crabbe and Goyle on, which they did, reluctantly. As if he couldn't take care of himself.

"If you took those points away, you can put them back," Potter said darkly.

"Oh? And why would I do _that_?" Draco was twirling his wand between his fingers.

Potter looked behind his shoulder at straggling students and motioned for Draco to follow him. He walked into an empty classroom, and Draco followed, wand at the ready.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** As usual, bits of dialogue here and there have been borrowed directly from HP  & The Order of the Phoenix. No copyright infringement intended. Thanks for reading! Juicy bits coming up next, so stay tuned!


	6. Chapter 6

Draco shut the door behind them, eyes fixed on Potter. He was pacing and running a nervous hand through his hair.

"I've been wrecking my brain trying to figure out what your deal is," he said, his messy hair now looking particularly distressed.

"I bet you wreck your brain trying to put pants on one leg at a time."

"Just shut it, will you? I'm trying to have a conversation, and that's not going to happen if you're taking digs at me after every sentence."

Draco said nothing, just narrowed his eyes.

"You have done nothing but try to provoke me at every turn. I have Hermione at my elbow every single time telling me to ignore you and to think of the consequences because she doesn't want me to get expelled, but I'm not as dumb as she thinks I am. I know you're doing this for a reason, not because you're bored and have nothing better to do. So now I ask you: what the fuck do you want from me, Malfoy?"

Draco gave a start as Potter shrugged off his school robes and slung them over the back of a chair. He then removed his gold-and-red tie and placed it over his robes. As he rolled up his sleeves, he said, "I figured you just want to take a good swing at me. You didn't really get a chance on the Quidditch pitch, did you? Go on, then. I'll even fight back, to give you some satisfaction out of this. But just do it, get it over with, and then lay off me and my friends."

"I don't want to fight you, Potter," Draco said quietly.

Potter looked exasperated. "Then _what_?"

Draco smirked. "I want to _humiliate_ you."

"What? But you do that every single day. I don't understand-"

"You mean the childish insults? The lowly fistfights? That's not true humiliation, Potter."

Potter looked baffled. "I don't-"

"You don't see what I have you doing? You're thinking constantly about me, Potter. You follow me. You corner me. You don't leave me alone."

"What? Are you barmy? That's-"

"Entirely true. You can't deny it. It's written on your face."

Potter scoffed. "You think _way_ too highly of yourself, Malfoy. I just want you to leave us alone."

"Haven't I told you, Potter," Malfoy said as he slipped off his robes and carefully folded them before setting them down on another chair. "Slytherins are not in the habit of giving without receiving."

"Haven't I told _you_ , Malfoy, that that is precisely what we're here for? For you to finally tell me what it is I have to do to get you to leave me alone?"

"Swear that you'll do it, then," Draco's breath quickened. "You'll do whatever I tell you to do."

Potter looked extremely uncomfortable. "I can't agree until I know what it is."

Draco shook his head. "My rules, Potter. I promise it won't hurt... that much."

"Yeah, what good is your word?"

Draco waved his wand and said, " _Veritas promitto_." A thin white rope extended from his wand tip and wrapped itself snugly around his neck. "Do you know this spell, Potter? It's a Truth-Telling charm. Doesn't last long, so it's no replacement for Veritaserum, but it'll do in a pinch." Draco took a deep breath and looked at him fixedly. "I promise that I do not intend to harm you, Harry Potter."

He felt the rope tighten for an instant and then the pressure vanished.

Potter was sizing him up, and Draco could see him battling with the curiosity and confusion. He had reached the breaking point of Draco's maddening taunts. How much more could he tolerate if he turned down this opportunity?

"You said you want to humiliate me," Potter said, swallowing hard. "What do you want me to do? Run through Hogwarts naked?"

Draco laughed. "No, no, I don't have any plans for the whole school to see you without your clothes on. Just me."

Potter started laughing but stopped abruptly when he saw Draco wasn't joining in.

"You're not... You can't be serious!"

Draco remained stoic, twirling his wand between his fingers.

"I don't know what game you're playing," Potter was now looking past Draco, towards the door. "But I don't... I mean, I'm not... _you're_ not-"

"Potter, shut up." Malfoy flicked his wand, and Potter's shirt flew open, a few buttons scattered on the stone floor. "Oops. Too rough. _Reparo._ " The buttons attached themselves back to his shirt. Potter tried to close it again, "Okay, Malfoy, that's enough-"

"What difference does it make if it's me, Potter?" Draco asked seriously, taking slow steps to close the distance between them. "I've seen the way you look at Chang. I know you've gotten nowhere with her. And I also notice how... _protective_ you are of Weasley. Neither of them reciprocate, do they? Doesn't it drive you crazy? Not having a... release?"

He was now close, very close. He murmured a quick incantation ( _"Adoleo!"_ ) that enhanced his natural pheromones. He saw Potter's immediate reaction: hard swallowing, perspiration at his hairline, taking deep breaths to remain calm.

"You're fucking crazy if you think-"

Their mouths never met. Draco roughly shoved Potter's shirt away and his teeth sank into Potter's shoulder, making him gasp. Harry pushed back, but Draco grabbed a handful of dark hair and pulled him close, against his neck, where Harry moaned into. Draco whipped his wand over his shoulder at the door and muttered, " _Muffliato_."

Potter's fingers were shaky as they fussed with Draco's tie. Draco chuckled and moved his hands away. He waved his wand, and Potter's belt undid itself, followed by his trousers, which folded themselves carefully over a chair. He smirked when he saw Potter's erection trying to poke through his boxers.

"So much for not being into blokes," Draco laughed, placing a hand gently around his waist as he guided him to the teacher's desk.

"Shut up, you prick," Potter growled.

Draco cocked his head thoughtfully. "I don't know how I want to take you yet."

"You swear this stays here-"

Draco quickly cast another Truth-Telling charm. "This stays in this room." He gave a little nod. "I've decided. I want to see your face."

He motioned for Potter to sit on the edge of the desk. Draco placed himself between his knees to gauge the height. Yes, this would work nicely.

Draco pocketed his wand and placed his fingers on Potter's taut chest. The skin was starting to slick with perspiration. Draco bent his head to lick a long, salty line from his chest to his chin. "Mmm," Potter groaned. Draco kissed his neck, licking him behind his earlobe with little flicks of his tongue, testing where he was most sensitive by hearing him sigh next to his ear. His sharp gasps for breath were making him so damn _hard-_

"Fuck it," he muttered. He'd wanted to drag this out as long as possible, but he was kidding himself if he thought he could wait any more. He had to do it, had to fuck him before he changed his mind-

He hooked his thumbs in the elastic waistband of Potter's boxers and, with a firm tug, slid them over his bony hips. He followed the line of fine dark hair from his navel to his firm cock and had to stop himself from wrapping his lips around it. _This is about him subjecting to_ me _,_ he thought.

"Lie back," Draco ordered, and Potter obeyed.

He brought his wand out again and pointed it at his free hand. " _Lubrico!_ " A cool film of gel coated his fingers. He put his wand back in his pocket and rubbed his hands together, slathering the slippery gel around his fingers. With one hand he began to stroke Potter's cock gently, up – he squeezed the tip of his cock slightly with the circle of his thumb and forefinger – down – he stroked the coarse black hair at he base of the shaft – up, down, up, down. Potter was trying to make his moans as quiet as possible.

Draco continued to stroke the length of him and used a slippery thumb to rim Potter's tight entrance, eliciting a sharp gasp. "Hang on-"

Draco chuckled and brought his wand back out. "Don't worry. I promised I wouldn't hurt you. _Sine dolore_. There. You won't feel any pain."

"You know a lot of sex spells, Malfoy-"

He smirked. "All of them very useful, Potter. I'll teach them to you sometime."

"I- ahh," Potter slumped back as Draco inserted one gel-covered finger into him, very slowly, turning it slightly, and gently withdrawing, before he repeated the process, his other hand still gathering the loose skin of his shaft over the tip of his cock and sliding it back down.

Draco tried his middle finger, and Potter groaned.

"Still no pain?" Draco asked, watching Potter's face closely. His eyes were closed, his teeth over his bottom lip.

"No... it feels good, Malfoy."

"Oh, bet it's killing you to say that."

"It's what you want, isn't it?" Potter opened his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow. "You wanted to humiliate me, and here we are."

"Say that you want me to fuck you."

Potter scoffed but said nothing.

Draco made his insertions shallow, stimulating the tight skin wrapped around his finger. Potter's eyes squeezed shut as he gasped for breath. "Oh... oh."

"Say it."

"No, you already know I-"

"Say it."

"Fuck you, Draco."

"Say it."

"Fuck _me_ , Draco."

Draco undid his belt and quickly opened his trousers, shoving his briefs down to release his own painfully hard erection. His slippery fingers wrapped around his wand again and he quickly mumbled, " _Contego!_ " and a prophylactic snapped around his cock. With another " _Lubrigo_ ," a film of runny gel covered the condom, and he withdrew his finger from within Potter.

"Tell me if it hurts," Draco said, pressing the tip of his cock against Potter's entrance. "I'll go slow."

Potter nodded, and Draco shifted his weight forward, the resistance of Potter's tight asshole pressing deliciously around his cock. He groaned. He was in. He was finally in.

He placed his thumbs on the grooves where Potter's thighs connected to his hips and pulled him towards him while thrusting his hips forward, creating a delicious rhythm where Potter's sweat-slicked shoulder blades squeaked against the polished wood of the desk. Potter reached out and grabbed onto Draco's forearms. "Argh," he groaned, his fingers squeezing. Draco watched his face carefully, his lips pressed into a line, his muscles aching as he held Potter's body in place while he slipped in and out of him, the warmth spreading from his cock to his spine. Potter's unruly hair was sticking to his forehead in thick, damp clumps, his glasses askew, his lips parted as he groaned.

Draco tore his eyes away. He looked so vulnerable it was enough to make him come already. He focused on the sight of his cock sliding in and out, Potter's lean thighs around hips, and the tight pressure rubbing around his cock. "Hah," he breathed through his mouth, his balls tightening with the build-up of his climax.

"Ah, Draco," Potter sighed, reaching between his legs. He grabbed his cock and started stroking it roughly. "Draco... I'm going... I'm going to-"

"Mm, yeah, Harry," Draco placed his hands behind Potter's knees, lifting his legs higher, the new angle giving his thrusts a new sensation. "Go ahead, go ahead and come-"

"G—gah," Potter choked, and a thick stream of semen splattered his stomach. "God!"

That was it. Draco couldn't hold back any longer. He quickened his thrusts, oh it felt so good, he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his temple against Potter's leg, he was going to come, he felt every muscle in his body tense, and suddenly release.

He panted, holding Potter's thighs high against his hips. He opened his gray eyes and found Potter watching him carefully.

Draco suddenly felt very sleepy. In a haze, he withdrew entirely from Potter's body and waved his wand several times. " _Scourgify!_ " The lubricant gel disappeared from his fingers. " _Evanesco!_ " The semen trail disappeared from Potter's skin. " _Evanesco!"_ The condom disappeared. " _Accio!_ " Potter's clothes and robes zoomed lazily towards the desk.

Draco turned his back to Potter as he composed himself, tucking everything back into his trousers and pulling his robes on.

"Well, I should get going, Potter," Draco said coldly. His thoughts were coming very slowly; he didn't like this numb feeling, like he wasn't in control of his mind.

"Hang on, Draco, we should talk-"

"Oh, I almost forgot."

Draco pointed his wand squarely between Potter's green eyes. Realization came too slowly. He was raising his hands and yelling " _Stop!_ " but it was too late.

_"Obliviate!"_

* * *

Hope you enjoyed this 100% gratuitous fan service chapter! Thanks for reading thus far; I hope you're enjoying it! :)


	7. Chapter 7

Draco had been running his fingers through his hair so often his scalp felt raw. He sat now at the kitchen table, staring at his untouched breakfast.

Malfoy Manor felt too big, too empty with his father gone - caught in that disaster of a raid on the Ministry - and for what? For a prophecy that was smashed and lost forever? To expose the Dark Lord before he was ready to make his move on the wizarding world?

Draco rubbed his face, his cold palms stroking some relief into his too-warm cheeks. He knew he was ill-prepared for all this - his biggest problems before now all had to do with his stupid schoolboy animosity with Potter.  _Fucking Potter_.

Potter's vacant, shell-shocked face looked up at him from yet another Daily Prophet front page.  _The Chosen One_.

Out of all the wizards in the world, why did it have to be this one that he couldn't get away from? When he managed to stop thinking about the tousled black hair falling lightly over his lightning-shaped scar, his name would be whispered in hushed conversations between huddled witches on the street. When the moans he'd heard come from Potter stopped rebounding off the walls of his mind, his mother would curse his name as she lamented her husband's absence. When he almost forgot the crushed herb scent of Potter's skin, his fucking face showed up, plastered on a moving picture next to his breakfast almost every morning.

Narcissa Malfoy now strode into the dining room, her heels clicking quickly as she tugged on black gloves.

"Draco, darling, why haven't you touched your breakfast?"

"I'm not hungry," he said calmly, moving his hands away from his face.

Narcissa paused, watching him. He did not meet her eyes. She took the seat next to him and shifted the chair closer. He straightened up, wary. Was she about to set him straight yet again about upholding their family pride? Did she somehow find out what he looked at in his Pensieve almost every night? Had he forgotten to gather it all back up into his head? Had he been sloppy in erasing the evidence of what he'd been doing from his bedsheets?

"Are you... scared about what's coming?"

Draco's pale eyes widened and he looked at his mother. She looked terrified. This was... unfamiliar. Unexpected.  _Dangerous._  The Dark Lord's servants never wavered. Never showed weakness.

"I... I just wish Father were here," Draco lied.

Narcissa covered his hand with hers. "So do I, my darling. You are much too young to be put under so much pressure-"

"I can handle it!" His face felt hot again. She  _did_  think him weak.

"I know you can," she said, placating him. "But no one wants their child's life to be in danger. No matter how strong they are."

Draco scoffed, but he knew what she meant. There was a war going on. Everyone was in danger.

"I'll be fine, Mother. You didn't raise a fool. I'll make you proud."

Her hand rested gently on his left forearm, and they both fell silent, knowing what burned beneath her touch.

* * *

Madam Malkin was having trouble controlling her nerves from the moment Draco and his mother entered the shop. She tried to make small talk as she stuck pins along the hem of the dark green robes he was trying on, but her fear was palpable.

Draco would be lying if he didn't admit to enjoying the fear his presence - his  _name_  alone - inspired. He didn't have to  _do_  anything - just walk into a shop and people would practically fall to their knees before him, begging to carry out his every command.

Shopping for new robes did little to lift his spirits, however. He looked at his mother. This didn't feel like the other start-of-term visits to Diagon Alley. Instead of looking forward to harmless things like Quidditch, all he could think about was what he had to do for the Dark Lord - for his  _mother_. For a brief moment, he cursed that even cared about her. She was the one weakness the Dark Lord knew he could use to his advantage.

Draco narrowed his eyes, almost thinking the mirror he was looking into was enchanted. The other weakness, the one the Dark Lord could never have knowledge of, walked into the shop. He was flanked, Draco noticed irritably, by Weasley and Granger.

Thinking about what his mother might say - what  _he_  might say - he tried to take control of the situation and make them rethink their decision to enter the shop.

"If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in."

Madam Malking was squawking at the use of the slur - and at the wands Potter and Weasley were now pointing at him. Granger, predictably, was trying to defuse their quick tempers.

"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school," Draco said, amused. How  _close_  Potter always came to harming him, but how he never quite managed to take that last step. "Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers."

Now his mother was calmly approaching them, her eyes cold and stern on the wands still held aloft. "Put those away. If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."

A fierce current of appreciation ran through Draco. It made his guilt double when he remembered what he had really come to London for.

"Really?" Potter was immovable. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"

Madam Malkin was now having trouble stringing words together.

Narcissa held Potter's gaze. "I see that being Dumbledore's favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."

Now Draco felt his stomach tighten - what if Potter finally did lose his temper, but with his mother at the end of his wand?

Potter was looking theatrically all around the shop. "Wow... look at that... he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"

 _That's it_ , Draco thought furiously. He started towards him - he would make him pay for that - oh yes, he'd enjoy making him pay... and he'd even let him remember it this time - but then he tripped over the too-long hem of his robe. Weasley was laughing.

"Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!"

His mother placed a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him back. "It's all right, Draco. I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius."

Draco's eyes widened - Potter seemed too close to the edge, now. How had this gotten so out of control? He was searching for his wand to Stupefy Potter, but already Granger, always with the cool head, was whining at his side.

Madam Malkin's hand was now on his left forearm, and the proximity made him lash out at her. "Ouch! Watch where you're putting your pins, woman!" With the focus of the group now on him, he knew it was time to make his exit. "Mother - I don't think I want these anymore - "

He pulled off the robes and tossed them in a heap on the floor. His mother shook back her head and held it high. "You're right, Draco. Now I know the kind of scum that shops here... We'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."

Draco and his mother took their leave - but not before Draco aimed a well-placed shoulder into Weasley, who was standing too close to Potter.

* * *

Draco glanced at his mother only after Madam Malkin's was out of sight. Her expression was still firm, but he knew it was exhausting her to hold her chin forward, her eyelids languid.

"You look like you could use a drink," he said, trying to dispel the hard silence between them.

Narcissa's lip actually curled into a half-smile. "Or two. Where would you like to go?"

Draco looked over his shoulder. "Actually, I thought I might go on to get my robes alone. I'll be  _fine_ , Mother. Potter would never really try anything - you saw for yourself how the Mudblood keeps him on a tight leash. I'll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron later. Go on."

While not happy with this plan, Narcissa seemed too tired to argue.

They parted ways, and Draco headed toward Knockturn Alley. He could hear the pops, bangs and hisses long before he saw the flashes, bursts and flares from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It was easily the brightest and loudest shop left in worn-out Diagon Alley. Almost against his will, he drifted toward the entrance, and he heard laughter mixed in with the rest of the cacophony of the charms and spells going off inside.

He almost stepped in, too - but then, through a gap in the Skiving Snackboxes crammed against the window, he caught sight of Potter. His heartbeats seemed to pick up their pace when he saw him looking around quickly, as if he couldn't afford to miss a single detail of all the magic going on around him. He was laughing again. A big, open, unabashed laugh.

Draco huffed. He wished he were inside the shop, too. He wished he could be looking at sweets that made you sick or fake wands that turned into a dozen paper streamers when you gave them a wave. He wished he could forget what was going on outside the shop doors. He wished he could laugh like him - laugh  _with_ him.

He remembered what he had shouted at Potter on the train back to London at the end of their fourth year:

_You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you!_

_When we first met on the train, first day at Hogwarts?_


	8. Chapter 8

No one in their right mind could expect him to care about school, Draco thought to himself as he walked toward the first Potions class of the term. There were... more pressing matters that occupied his thoughts.

He saw Professor Slughorn fiddling with a row of cauldrons at the front of the room and wondered if he would be able to coast the way he'd done when Snape was Potions master. As he took a seat next to Nott, he tried not to be painfully aware of Potter's proximity. He was done with that, he reminded himself. He'd had his fun. He had a delicious memory of his triumph over Potter that he could relive as often as he wanted - at least, until his cock was too spent after consecutive viewings. But he carried the memory alone.

He found his attention waxing and waning as soon as the class began. He was trying not to think about being in the same room as Potter, and could swear he could smell him, even though he couldn't possibly be close enough to inhale that crushed green scent.  _Amortentia_ , he realized, recognizing one of the potions in front of him.  _At least I didn't have to resort to using this on him_ , he thought, with a little twinge of pride, chancing a glance at Potter.

In no time at all, Granger was already desperately trying to impress the new teacher with all the scraps of books she had crammed into her bushy head. Draco rolled his eyes. Some things never change. "Wait 'til he finds out she's a Mudblood," he whispered to Nott. "We'll see how impressed he is then."

"Oho! 'One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?" Professor Slughorn was beaming.

"Yes, sir," Potter said.

"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," Slughorn said, pleased.

Draco felt his stomach drop. Had Slughorn been Confunded? He watched Granger turn to Potter, positively glowing, and whisper something excitedly. Potter looked bashful. Draco felt a shiver of jealousy crawl up his spine.

Slughorn went on lecturing about the potions bubbling in their cauldrons, and Draco let his mind wander until he got to the last one: this one seemed to be made of liquid gold, splashing playfully about without spilling over the rim. "I take it that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"

"It's liquid luck!" Granger said, even more animated than usual. "It makes you lucky!"

Draco ignored how Slughorn just doled out another ten points. "...if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed... at least until the effects wear off."

Draco almost gave a start. Could he get his hands on some of that potion without Slughorn noticing...? Before he could even start hatching a plan, Slughorn was saying: "And that is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."

It has to be mine, Draco thought, steeling himself against the rush of adrenaline that was now coursing through his body. "One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis, enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt."

Twelve hours! In that much time he was sure he could finish repairing the Vanishing Cabinet and... no, best not to think about that now... he glanced at Potter, who seemed to be struggling to read the directions in his borrowed book. How would Felix Felicis work on Potter? Would it cut right to the chase, make Potter start sweating at the sight of him, make him eager to repeat what had happened in that empty classroom so long ago?

He flipped quickly to that day's assignment: Draught of the Living Death. With a great scraping sound, he dragged his cauldron toward him. Quickly, he started cutting up his valerian roots.  _That potion will be mine._  He chanced another peek at Potter. _Potter will be mine. Again._

But he had never attempted such a complicated potion. Even though it pained him to admit it, even Granger seemed to be struggling - her bushy hair seemed to be expanding in direct correlation to her confusion, her brow knitting further with each stir of her cauldron. Did he even stand a chance? He let his eyes rake over Potter again, and he knew he was doing a poor job of masking his longing. Not that Potter noticed - he was, surprisingly, looking very excited as he glanced from his potion to the textbook - apparently, the shade of pink in his cauldron was precisely what the directions were calling for. Draco grimaced - his was still an inky violet. What had he done wrong?

"The clear winner!" Slughorn declared when he got to Potter's cauldron. Draco's heart sank as the little bottle of liquid luck disappeared into Potter's pocket. The mission, Draco shook his head to steady himself.  _You're on your own._

_You've always been on your own._

* * *

Draco stood before in the hallway outside the Room of Requirement, looking at the blank wall with pure loathing. He had given up on Quidditch for this. He had given up every free moment for this.  _I don't want to do this_ , he thought miserably, looking down at the branch he'd snapped off a yew tree at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

He wanted to be outside with everyone else, watching the game. He wanted the perfect excuse to watch the Gryffindor Seeker gripping a broomstick between his legs. He shook the image out of his mind and steeled himself. You have more important things to worry about than shagging that scar-headed git. He started pacing the hallway, thinking:  _I need the place where everything is hidden._

Inside the Room of Requirement, Draco walked past sky-high piles of assorted objects - books, wooden furniture, animal bones - and headed straight for the Vanishing Cabinet. He opened the door with a great creak that made him fearful that the door would snap off its weak hinges. He exhaled slowly as the door held. He kneeled in front of the Cabinet and peered into its base, which was missing a large chunk of wood. He snapped off bits of the yew tree branch and began to Transfigure it to meld into the splintered panels.

It worked, but he still had a long way to go. He knew that the wood of yew trees did not tolerate hesitant or halfhearted handling, and it might not withstand or even want to absorb the Dark magic the Cabinet was imbued with. And he'd been a fool to pretend he wasn't terrified every waking moment now. Terrified that the Dark Lord would grow impatient, and make Narcissa pay the price for his incompetence.

It was only a month into the term, but a small panic was beginning to bubble in his mind. He left the Room of Requirement and headed straight to the Owlery in the West Tower. He penned a quick letter to Borgin ordering him to go to Madam Rosmerta during the first Hogsmeade weekend.  _And bring the necklace_ , he ended before signing with an angry flourish. He watched the school barn owl fly out the window with his message and wondered how a letter so heavy with dark plans could even take flight.

* * *

The entire time he was serving his detention with McGonagall, he felt his heart beating so loudly he was surprised she couldn't hear it. He was in the clear, he kept telling himself. He had his air-tight alibi. Rosmerta would find someone to pass the necklace along to. They'd place it in Dumbledore's hands. He couldn't open the package without touching the cursed opals - and his job would be done. The Dark Lord would be satisfied. His mother would be safe from harm... for now.

Not long after students starting coming back from Hogsmeade, Draco realized his plan had not gone as expected. That's an understatement, he thought bitterly. His plan had crashed and burned so magnificently he thought even Longbottom would have managed better. Not only had the package only barely made it halfway to Hogwarts, it had nearly killed Katie Bell - nobody he cared about, but he didn't need any collateral damage bringing attention to himself.

And of course...  _of-fucking-course_... Potter had been there to see it all happen. To make matters worse, Potter seemed to have a disturbingly accurate hunch that Draco had had a hand in it all. Let's see him prove it, he thought, feeling his lip curl involuntarily.

He promptly decided to not try anything too rash for a while. He'd go back to collecting bits of yew from the forest and slowly, slowly, get the Cabinet in working order.

* * *

Robe pockets full of pieces of yew branches, Draco moved through the darkened hallways of the castle, heading to the Room of Requirement. Everyone was in the dormitories packing to go home for the holidays save for the precious few that had been invited to Slughorn's Christmas party. A little flutter of annoyance ran through him - he hadn't been invited, even though anyone would be lucky to so much as be in the same room as a Malfoy, he thought bitterly.  _More important things to worry about_ , he reminded himself. Soon enough his name would be just as untouchable as the Dark Lord's. Soon enough his family would reclaim its honor.

As he came upon Slughorn's office, he dawdled. He wondered what the party was like. He pictured Potter in dress robes, laughing and having a grand old time. In his hesitation, he lost focus and let the caretaker creep up on him - he felt the hand close around his arm in a vice-like grip. To his horror, Filch began dragging him into the office.

"Let go of me," Draco snarled. Filch responded by grabbing him by the ear instead. "I was just going in there anyway - I've been invited to Professor Slughorn's party, I was just held up-" Draco considered changing tack, groveling for a fleeting second - he was generating too much unwelcome attention - but it was too late, and he squinted against the light as the office door opened.

"Professor Slughorn," Filch said, barely containing his glee at having caught him, "I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?"

Draco freed himself. "All right, I wasn't invited!" he spat. He could feel every pair of eyes on him. Even Potter's. "I was trying to gate-crash, happy?"

Slughorn was in a good mood and tried to wave Filch away: "You may stay, Draco."

Draco gave a start. This was not what he expected. This was not how he had planned on spending his evening - socializing. He chanced a glance at Potter and felt his heart skip a beat. Potter seemed to be scrutinizing him - and for a moment he entertained a crazy thought: that Potter was using Legilimency on him.  _Impossible_ , he thought.

"I'd like a word with you, Draco," Snape cut through Slughorn's niceties.

"Oh, now, Severus," Slughorn said lazily, "it's Christmas, don't be too hard-"

"I'm his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or otherwise, to be. Follow me, Draco."

Furious with Snape for interfering, with Filch for dragging him into this party, with Potter for staring, and most of all with himself for royally fucking everything up, he did as he was told.

Snape led him into an empty classroom and shut the door behind them. He turned on Draco in a flash: "You have been reckless. I know what you are trying to do, and if you wish to succeed, you cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled -"

"I didn't have anything to do with it, all right?" He hated lying to his favorite professor. He had to keep this secret. The Dark Lord had been very specific. Suddenly, he felt a slight tug at his mind - a little probing touch, almost too subtle to detect - and he put up his walls in an instant. He stared right into Snape's black eyes. "Don't look at me like that! I know what you're doing, I'm not stupid, it won't work - I can stop you!"

Snape smirked. "Ah... Aunt Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency, I see."

Draco was breathing hard. His mission had seemed so simple. It had seemed like such a small task in exchange for the Dark Lord's forgiveness. How had it all gotten so bollixed up?

"I am trying to help you," Snape said, almost gently. "I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco -"

"Looks like you'll have to break it, then, because I don't need your protection!" Draco hated the note of hysteria in his voice, but it was better than it breaking. His mother... his own mother had gone behind his back... She thought him weak, of course she did, she always had, hadn't she? "It's my job, he gave it to me and I'm doing it, I've got a plan and it's going to work, it's just taking a bit longer than I thought it would!"

Snape continued to pester him, trying to get him to divulge his plan, but Draco refused to confide in him. Why did he even care? He was untouchable - every other Death Eater envied how easily he'd cozied up to the Dark Lord, how he'd been entrusted in ways all the other followers could only dream of. What did Snape have left to gain?

"I know what you're up to! You want to steal my glory!"

Snape paused. Then: "You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your father's capture and imprisonment has upset you, but-"

The pain and humiliation flared through Draco and he was almost reached for his wand to hex Snape right then and there. Instead, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the classroom. He was alone in this. Always had been.

* * *

**A/N** : As usual, bits of dialogue here and there have been borrowed directly from HP & tHBP. No copyright infringement intended. Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

One Saturday morning, Draco headed down to the Great Hall with Crabbe and Goyle.

"Are you... you know..." Crabbe began.

"Are we doing it again today?" Goyle finished.

Draco narrowed his eyes at them. "I told you last night, yes."

Neither of them looked thrilled at the prospect.

"How much longer..." Crabbe tried again.

Goyle, again, picked up the slack: "How much longer do you think it'll be?"

Draco stopped suddenly and Crabbe and Goyle bumped into him. They quickly took several fearful steps back. Draco spun sharply back at them.

"Oh, I'm  _sorry_ ," he said, his voice gentle and venomous. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged worried looks. "Are... are you boys not having  _fun?_ "

"Draco, we just meant-" Goyle said, placatingly.

"Is your job  _too hard for you_?" Draco hissed, taking a step closer to them. "Having regrets, now, are we?"

"It's just taking so long-"

"You're right, Goyle, it is. I see that now. How I wish I had actually been trying to follow the Dark Lord's orders instead of dicking around all the time!"

"It's just-" Crabbe tried to interject, but Draco held up a pale hand to stop him. "Oh, I understand perfectly. Your role is just so  _difficult_ , so  _risky_ , keeping a lookout-"

"Well, we do have to take that rotten potion-" Goyle mumbled.

"The Dark Lord is poised to take over our world, and our families stand behind him, putting their faith in him," Draco dropped his voice so as not to be heard by the stream of sixth years filing into the Hall. "And you're complaining about how a potion  _tastes_?"

"All we wanted to know was how much longer we're doing this, is all," Crabbe said sullenly.

"I don't know how much longer, all right? It's taking longer than I thought it would." It pained him to admit this.

Crabbe licked his lips and opened his mouth again, but Draco shut him down. "Look, it's none of your business what I'm doing, Crabbe, you and Goyle just do as you're told and keep a lookout!"

"I tell my friends what I'm up to, if I want to keep a lookout for me," he heard behind him suddenly.

He whirled around, hand already flying to his robe pocket, searching for his wand.  _Potter! He heard!_ He instinctively wanted to Obliviate him on the spot - not that it'd be the first time - but just then all four Heads of the Houses were calling for silence, and their Apparition instructor began their first lesson. Draco only half-listened, his mind racing through what had been said and feeling fairly certain that Potter couldn't have heard anything useful. After a moment, he found himself smirking. He almost wished Potter  _would_  figure out what he was doing. Walk in on him in the Room of Requirement. That could actually be  _fun_.

* * *

Draco almost had to wrench himself away from the lure of the Quidditch pitch. Everyone was making their way excitedly outdoors while Crabbe and Goyle shuddered their way through their transformations after taking great big gulps of Polyjuice Potion.

Draco let his eyes sweep them up and down and, satisfied, nodded firmly. "Everyone should be outside by now. Let's go." The two girls Crabbe and Goyle had turned into did not look like they shared his enthusiasm.

As they headed toward the Room of Requirement, they ran right into Potter. For a crazy second, Draco imagined his little fantasy had come true - Potter  _had_  figured out what he was up to and was here to stop him.  _I'd love to see him try_ , he thought, and gave a dry laugh. He kept walking.

"Where're you going?" Potter asked.

Draco turned to look at him. "Yeah, I'm really going to tell you, because it's your business, Potter. You better hurry up, they'll be waiting for 'the Chosen Captain' - 'the Boy who Scored' - whatever they call you these days."

He made it a point to slam his shoulder against Potter as he passed him - just a quick touch, a small whiff of his scent - and he and Crabbe and Goyle left him standing in the corridor, clearly confused. Draco felt his lip curl into a smug smile. Potter may have forgotten what happened the year before, but everything that led up to that stolen moment in an empty classroom remained the same. He sought him out. On the train, he'd snuck into their compartment under his Invisibility Cloak to watch him. Even now, he wanted to know why he wasn't outside with the rest of the school. Why did he even care?

Draco shook his head to center his thoughts. He had more important things to worry about. But once he finished his task, maybe he'd lure Potter again. One last time. And he'd let him remember it, this time.

He swallowed hard as a horrible thought made his stomach clench. If he was successful, if the Dark Lord's plan worked, Potter wouldn't have long to tell anyone about it, anyway.

* * *

" _Reparo_ ," Draco said firmly, and the crack along the door healed itself. Draco swung the door shut carefully and latched it - and with a great groan, the hinges snapped off and he had to take several steps back to keep the door from falling on his head. His blood pressure spiked so rapidly he almost felt like snapping his own wand in frustration.  _I'm never going to fix this._ His chest heaved with the sobs that threatened to come out of him.

He couldn't even look at the damn Cabinet anymore. He needed to get out of there.

He left the Room of Requirement and saw Crabbe and Goyle standing on either end of the corridor. They looked at him apprehensively. Goyle must have seen something in his face because he began to approach, asking, "Draco, are you alri-"

"Leave!" Draco bellowed, and, startled, Crabbe and Goyle darted in opposite directions.

Draco strode aimlessly, no destination in mind. He just wanted to get away from that fucking Room.

He stumbled into one of the boys' bathrooms, which was thankfully deserted. He stood at one of the sinks and studied his reflection in the mirror above it. He looked half dead. Gaunt, tired, a greenish tinge to his skin. He gave a mirthless laugh.

 _You're a failure_ , said a voice in his head.  _The Dark Lord's always known you were, and set you up to fail anyway. Even Harry-fucking-Potter knows it - he knew it even back then on that first train ride to Hogwarts. Knew better than to make friends with the likes of you._

The thought of Potter made him groan. But he hadn't imagined things. Potter had wanted him - with a little coaxing - but he'd wanted him. Saint Potter, who took pity on the weak and pathetic - just look at the company he kept, for Merlin's sake.

The memory of Potter succumbing to him with the aid of a spell as simple as a pheromone-enhancing charm sent a bolt of heat through him, and his cock stirred in response. Draco gripped himself through his robes and gasped. He'd give anything to have Potter back beneath him right then - the almighty and beloved Potter - begging for it.

He unzipped his trousers and pulled out his cock. It was almost trembling with the need to be touched. His left hand gripped the porcelain sink while the other stroked his length. He gripped the shaft firmly and matched each stroke to the rhythm of his breaths - slow and labored.  _You're wanking in a bathroom_ , the voice reminded him.  _Anyone could just walk in._

He found that the idea thrilled him... made him harder, even. Then he pictured  _Potter_  walking in. Imagined the sight of his enemy touching himself out in the open like this would jog something out of the fog of his Obliviation. The same drive that had led Potter to spread his legs for him would awaken, and he'd walk right up to him and get on his knees and take him in his mouth.

" _God_ ," Draco groaned, jerking his hand faster. He thought of green eyes peering up at him over round glasses, of lips tight around the tip of his cock. The image pushed him over the edge - he frantically rubbed his cock as fast as he could and the buildup of his climax peaked - a dribble of white cum splattered in the sink. He panted, looking at his sickly complexion in the mirror.

Over his shoulder, he saw two eyes staring at him through a pair of thick glasses.

He shoved his cock back in his pants, turning frantically. A girl - no, a  _ghost_  - was hovering sullenly in the entrance to one of the stalls.

"What... what are you... how long have you been there?" Draco spat angrily.

"A while," the ghost said simply.

"You've just been  _watching_ me?" Draco narrowed his eyes.

"There's not much else to do when you're a ghost," she said, shrugging.

"That's a bit sick, isn't it?"

"You  _were_  doing it where anyone could just walk in and see, you know."

Draco had no response, so he just turned his back on her and used his wand to clean up the mess in the sink.

"My name's Myrtle," the ghost continued. "I mostly haunt the girls' bathroom on the second floor, but I get bored there sometimes."

"Charmed," Draco sneered. "Now go be a voyeur somewhere else."

"You're not the only boy who comes in here to do that, you know."

"Oh, fantastic," Draco muttered, mostly to himself. "I'm being comforted by a  _ghost_. How pathetic does  _that_  make me?" He busied himself washing his hands and splashing his face with cold water.

"I don't think it's pathetic!" the ghost said, indignantly. "You must be very lonely."

Draco's breath caught. "I'm not  _lonely_ ," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm just..." He caught himself trying to explain himself to a ghost and stopped. "Leave me alone."

Myrtle glided to his side and placed a hand that he couldn't feel over his shoulder. "I know what it's like to be alone," she said. "It took people  _ages_  to find my body when I died. I guess nobody missed me."

Draco's heart seized. He wondered who'd miss him if he died...  _when_  he died, since the Dark Lord was neither patient nor forgiving. Tears started stinging his eyes.

"Ooh, don't cry..." Myrtle cooed softly.

But Draco was covering his face with both hands, muffling his sobs with his palms. He was going to fail. He was going to die and no one would mourn him.

* * *

Draco kept returning to the Vanishing Cabinet, each time with more bits of yew wood or a Transfiguration book or a piece of parchment with Charms instructions, but it kept resisting his magic - like it sensed the fear in his heart and found him, just like everyone else did, a  _failure_.

He cast one last desperate " _Reparo!_ " at the door, which creaked and trembled feebly but remained resolutely cracked.

He stormed out of the Room of Requirement and almost ran for the boys' bathroom, barely making it to the U-bend before emptying his stomach's contents. He grasped the porcelain as he dry-heaved, spittle dribbling from his lips.  _Pathetic_.

His eyes stung with tears as he shuffled heavily to the sink and scooped water into his mouth to rinse out the taste of bile. He sniffled, trying to stop the tears from spilling out, but failed- he wiped them away roughly.

"Don't," Myrtle had materialized by his side, her weightless hand on his back. "Don't... tell me what's wrong... I can help you..."

"No one can help me," he said, his head hung in defeat. His shoulders were heaving with the effort to stifle the sobs wracking his body. "I can't do it... I can't... It won't work... and unles I do it soon... he says he'll kill me..."

He dragged his eyes back to the cracked mirror, bracing himself for his loathsome reflection. His heart seemed to stop when he saw Potter instead, standing near the bathroom entrance.

 _It's him_. He turned frantically.  _Always him._ His wand was out and pointed at him before he could even blink, a non-verbal hex had formulated in his mind before he even realized it -

it missed, blasting a wall lamp instead. He cast a Shielding Charm just in time as a hex bounced off it.  _Why is he here? Why is it that he just won't leave me be?_

He raised his wand to hex Potter, just obliterate him and find some peace from him - Myrtle was screaming for them to stop, but he couldn't - his hex missed, and then so did Potter's - he felt the spell zip hotly past his ear and then explode the cistern behind him - water sprayed out in all directions, covering everying.

 _Just leave me, stay away from me,_  Draco begged silently, and raised his wand in blind desperation. " _Cruci-_ "

" _SECTUMSEMPRA!_ " Potter's spell had drowned him out - and for a split second, Draco felt like he was drowning, too. Then, a searing pain as he felt his skin splitting in two, right across his chest. His throat filled with blood, and he coughed out a mouthful of red splatter.  _What...?_

But then he was falling back, his vision darkening until he saw no more.

* * *

 **A/N:** Some dialogue and details borrowed from HP & tHBP. No copyright infringement intended. Enjoy!


End file.
